Storytime... (KISS)

...the twisted little way I have of writing...

Wednesday, January 31, 2007


And she said to me that I didn't exist without my two halves, the good and the evil at odds, in competition, at my throat telling me I could't exist, that I didn't matter, that he didn't matter.

and when she asked me if I knew what it felt like to live I told her it was a far greater thing to know what it felt like to die. I said to her "Have you known life? Really known it? Life's entirity cannot be known without knowing its end. Death is only a beinning, pleasure without pain is only a notion. Have you really known life?" as the two sides of my soul said:

life? ha! Have I known life?
:Have you danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?
~Have you walked with the reaper in the rain?

there was silence

Monday, January 29, 2007

Dear Friend;

Dear Friend;
I was thinking about it and realized how weird it must seem that I got you this. If it does seem weird to you, I'm sorry. You expressed an interest and need in having one and I am very grateful to you for being my friend and for helping me forget how crappy life can be. There are few people in my life I appreciate like I do you. You're one of my few true friends - for that I can't say thank you enough.

You know... I admire you. A guy like you who isn't afraid to actually live life and tell things like they are, who sometimes takes center stage and lives without regrets; a guy like you is so hard to come by, and forgive me for it but I often envy the people who get to make you laugh and smile, who make you happy and who get to spend time with you getting to know you better.

You've always been my friend - which is why I feel I can be this honest with you. I hope I make you happy from time to time. You deserve happiness. I love you for who you are; flaws and all, and you are such an interesting person that I often wish I could come home to you like this more often.

You're the kind of person who makes things fun and so little of my life can be described as fun... A lot of my favourite memories involve you - bonfire, wrestling, video games, late-night conversations, joy-rides ti name a few - The rest of my favourite memories – road-trips, star-gazing, midnight dancing under the pale moonlight - would have been better memories if you had been in them.

Since coming to college I’ve filled my life with studying and jobs and work that I hate and people I can barely tolerate, I haven't been able to enjoy anything or to have real friendships. When I come home to PA I realize this.

Moreover I realize you are the person I miss the most. You make me feel alive, you have never judged me, and you've been my friend when I needed a friend the most. For that I do what I can to say thank you. I just hope you don't think I'm weird for spending money on you.

Sincerely, Your Friend,

Sunday, January 28, 2007

dream together

It was amazing to see them again, Little John, Dare, Toi and Fiver, it was like Day was still with us, the feeling was amazing, I wanted to run up to them and hug them. They welcomed me, and we all lit our cigarettes and talked about the past. It had been a long time since we had all been together in the same place. They asked me about college, how things were going, what it was like. As soon as they found out it was boring in comparison to the life we'd all lived, no one cared. Dare recounted tales of people he'd tangled with recently, parties he's crashed, things he'd done and we were his captive audience all over agin. It was like we were there with him doing those crazy things all over again. Everyone smiled and laughed and we were all having a good time. Except me. I didn't belong. I barely understood the language anymore and half of what he said was going in one ear and out the other, I felt out of the loop and I was. I took a half step back and no one noticed. This was their lives and world now, I didn't fit in or belong anymore. "Right Chris" one of 'em said with a smile, I smiled back and nodded, not really knowing what they asked. Everyone was pleased with my response and went back to their conversation. It was the story of Dare slaying the dragon all over again, only this time it had happened just last week, all the things that happened in his life happened just last week. A perpetual state of "awe man, let me tell you what happened to me last week..."
I always wanted to know why he hid behind that way of living, why was it he always had to have a story to tell and a life-threatening situation to be in. It scared me to think of him wagering his life again and loosing for once. But it always had.
It had been a while since I'd been here, our little bit of turf had changed; a fence here, a sign there, and the world seemed duller than it did back in our hay-day. Staring off into the distance I thought about what laid beyond those hills. I came from about that direction, hundreds of miles south of here. I thought the grass would be somehow greener here, it's brown in both places, and I stared down at the ground beneath my feet, no grass where I stood, just dirt and cigarette butts. Feeling a change in the winds I hugged my jacked around me tighter and looked to the sky, it's going to rain soon. I couldn't understand why, but tears welled up in my eyes, I hadn't ever cried in front of these people. We were all kids then and no one wanted to be seen as immature. A rain-drop hit my cheek and I blinked out a tear.
Sniffing hard against the cold air my chest siezed and my heart stopped for a moment and there was a sharp pain. I turned and started walking. I knew I had to leave them behind.
I just didn't want to.

one of the guys - analysis

I wanted so desperately to be one of the guys again. I walked towards the group and they welcomed me like one of their own, but the conversations were dry. I didn't fit in anymore. I wanted to.
It had been forever since I'd felt the bliss of having a good time. It was like mirth had labeled my path "do not cross - quarantine" No surprise, I don't think I would recognise a good time if it bit me on the ass. Part of it was these people, I wanted to have a good time with them, and because I hadn't seen them in so long, I forgot what a good time was. And the other part was that we just weren't the same people, at least I wasn't and while some are stuck in time, none of us really has a good time like we used to anymore.
I stared down at my feet and the ground beneath them. There used to be grass here, it used to be greener. Now the bit of the world I stand on is so dry, so dead, I felt like the dirt beneath our feet. I don't belong here.
They asked me why I walked away, I didn't even say goodbye, what was there to say goodbye to, we were already dead, the past we clung to was already so far behind us. No one here was the same. Why say goodbye to a bunch of strangers, we hadn't even met.
Years ago they would have picked me up and broungt me back and we would have wrestled and laughed and ...And no one was the same way anymore. I walked off in silence. All that... all that history, all that joy. Over.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Killing Silence

2AM and I can't sleep.
I miss my teddy bear.
Words floating in and out of my conscious
Like the sun through this hemisphere.
Like life through time.
And I wait on no one to tell me it is ok.
Finally I sit down to write it all down,
Descending words to page, body to grave.
And all I can think of is the gun to his head.
He's so perfect on his knees and crying.
My heart is racing and time has no meaning.
And he walked down the corridor to his own oblivion.
Closing the door with its gentle click,
As he closes his eyes, takes his last breath...
And the trigger is pulled.
I would have given anything to see him
Bleeding there on the floor.
Perfect timing, the sunset,
Makes death and the dawn all seem right.
I don't know why it matters, life.
I saw him die and I ran.
I dream about it now and keep my own silence.
Haven't spoken since it happened.
It keeps playing in my mind.
Like the repetitive tune of a jack-in-the box,
Self-inflicted wound, I keep turning the crank
Over and over in my mind, I pull the handle,
Pulling, pulling, pulling the trigger and ...
POP! I startle awake every time
It happens again in my dreams,
The Jack pops up over and over again
I keep pulling that trigger
I Killed him.
My best friend. My only friend.
He was the sunrise to my oblivion.
And I felt satisfied for ending the misery.
His pain was my own.
He asked me a question before it happened,
Did I love him.
I never answered.
I just pulled the trigger for him,
Just like he asked.

Friday, January 19, 2007

reason with me a while...

I love him and have done so as long as I've known him, from first conversation on... I still remember the day we met, his blue eyes crystal and clear and deep pools of thought and intention. He has always been without apprehension, without guilt and without regret, and to live in such a way have I always felt a tinge of envy for. I love and envy him all the same. He is, to me, a most perfect man. Save for his skill in bed. Though I admit to his skill with the persuasion of so many to his bed, I admit also to his lack of skill in bed once he has persuaded them to it.
So is my love for him true? Can it be so honest a thing? Or can it be so readily and easily persuaded a thing, this love, as a dandelion in the gentle summer winds? This love, is it mere lust? Politic? Wanton greed. Of so many men I have given up in my time, should I regret ever my actions upon the freedom, specifically the imparting of freedom, upon them? Am I cruel, regret, envy, lust, am I mad? Am I repentant, sorrow, wisdom, folly,... am I right? Do I have the correct decision in the stone of reality engraved? Or is there such a thing as mistake? Have I at some point with this one set him loose in error as I have myself done to both - myself and another previously? In setting the first free, was this error truly folly as it had led to my joining the other (though I question how truly this one action indeed did lead to the other) thereby is there purpose in having disposed of the relationship between myself and this loved one as a cause to find more true, more profitable forms of love or so as to realize my mistake and in repentance to correct it in never again visiting that pain upon him.
And in following this discourse, to rejoin with him would cause such sin as to visit again upon yet a third the pain of releasing another who loves me faithfully.

I seem to make a habit of discarding faithful men for no purpose - but why?

No, I shaln't do it to another. Can it be so wrong that I am happy now? That I have found a happy combination of security and spontanuity. Is it such a sin that I enjoy this man? It is wrong that I endure and enjoy enduring this love? No. Some would question my honesty with myself here, but I am happy. And more often happy, more thoroughly, than not.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

The question of life rephrased...

Beyond the fact of souls or naught, I ponder this:
Is a soul destined? Have we but borrowed time, but to discover some purpose at once our own and yet not, to then achieve it and be off?
What then of lovers, fighters, politicians, Mad Men?
What then of those who search forever for purpose unfound?
What then, I wonder, of us?
Were we meant to be or have we, in time's expense, merely touched, forged our own pleasure from this unkind existence? We have found each other's life but a short while, and in finding we have conversed with one another, as we are desperate for company. Desperate as those on ships passing in the night, dense of fog through waters solemn, solitary, cold... Through this world of agony and loneliness we have greedily drunk of each other's company and professed death before departure. Alas. Ships passing in the night do move on and out of earshot to their own destined purposes greater than our own lonely discourses. Is this too our lot? Or shall we meet and never part? In parting are we to meet again and find rekindled love all the stronger at each awaited greeting? Is there meaning and purpose beyond us, Is there purpose to this life without each other, have we some greater cause than to find one another and to remain tied like barge to water? Tell me; is our purpose each other or some greater calling's cause? Is there reason, is there life, is there love? What more; should my love of you need for reason?

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Hand me your overcoat, let me wear your image once.

Would you take off my overcoat
Would you hand me a beer
Would you lend me a cigarette
I don't want to offend you.
Because I fear you my dear.
There're so many things I wonder now.
That I haven't said before.
How is it that you drown that night
Why is it that I care
Would you take off your overcoat
Would you put down that beer
Too many lousy cigarettes
Does it hurt you to see my fears.
Well I hope to annoy you
And I really hope I offend.
Hope it pains you to see me this way,
Like it pains me to see you alone.
So my darling speak to me And tell me I'm the only one
Or see me, forever, like I've seen you so long
See yourself in the mirror for once.
Would you hand me another beer.
And look at me.

Would you hand me my overcoat.
I don't want to offend you anymore.
But sit down and let's talk awhile,
Darling come sit next to me here on the floor.
There’s plenty of room to talk about...
Plenty time left to regret.
No I don't and didn't lie to you
We never shared that bliss.
You see I liked being yours alone,
But please quit calling me your whore.
You were the devil on display those days...
You were mine, I was yours.
It was so easy to remember things.
You were drunk and I was sober,
We were young, and now we're over, older now.
So please hand me that look of yours,
The one I used to tell you were High.
Pass on that drunken cloud to me,
Because I missed my chance, I blew it,
Now it's my turn to drink, and smoke, and lie.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

3:07Am Leaving with only Questions.

So Why is it I feel this way?

Looking into those blue eyes, holding him in my arms, my body went numb. I could not move. Paralysis and fear consumed me, I did not want to let go of him. He was my husband, to me, he was my protector. I was drunk.
The smell on his neck was me, sweet and a bit sour, and almost... cold. I could remember only barely the last time I'd held him and it seemed so very long ago. I thought of his smell, I had burned him into my memory that long sleepless night... a year ago perhaps...?
While he slept I counted. I counted moments spent with him and I counted heartbeats. Slowing my own to synchronize with his, I dared not breathe out of synch with him. Wanting nothing to disturb him, I held in tense agony, mindful of his every movement. I watched over his slumber and did not want to let go of a single breath. He pitched and contorted and I wanted to reach in and slaughter the dreams that made his face fill with so much hurt. I remained as alert as I could; at least I could control myself, I would not disturb him.
It was this way again, but now I was drunk and not so in control of my body nor my mind. He looked at me and kissed me, and it was awful. He has yet to learn the perfect soft and sensual kiss. I hope to teach him someday. But this thought I let go, I needed to concentrate to keep track of where all my fingers were. His spine my pinky, his shirt's edge my middle finger, my thumb at his side sliding down, my index curling beneath his shirt. My hand found his skin and I lost it again. What agony to loose it, I long to feel his flesh again, It has been many long nights since I have been able to. My other hand at his neck; collarbone, juggular, base of the skull, hairline and behind the ear, at least this hand I could find all my fingers. My left ring has been numb since we saw each other this morning.
He caresses my cheek in my dreams, but here his heavy hand rests still on my stomach, the other motionless holds onto my shoulder. And for this, for anything, I would undress for him... were I not already bare. I don't know how I got so nude so fast but it happened a while ago and the alcohol seems to permit me only glances of when and how it happened. He unhooked my bra and I giggled, I took off my socks as he crawled between my legs, the smell of me on his shoulder - I am repulsed. Taking off his shirt and hugging his chest. I breathe deep and moan and he lays me down.
I wish I hadn't let him do that, go down on me, I'd much rather smell him. As I hug him now and he bites the right side of my neck I gasp and long to smell him longer. I cannot. I claw up at his shoulder and bite into him gently, he moans. The liar, he said he does not like biting and roughness, he also said it was my fault. I fear his moans are not truth and so, with my other hand, I stroke at his back. Wrapping my knee around his thigh and my ankle around his calf I straighten his leg and contemplate rolling him over on his back. I am too drunk to coordinate it. So instead I arch my back and moan my approval of where-ever his hands are. I cannot tell whether they are between my legs, at my back, my neck, my breasts, my anything... I cannot tell because I'm numb with alcohol and fear. I don't want to be alone...
Afraid to displease him, and too drunk to control whether or not I do. This will be lousy sex for fear and alcohol. Dammit!
I want to show him a good time, I want to sit him down someday and tell him: "Be rough with me, grab me, restrain me, take me. Kiss me sensually, let me show you how to. Give me leave to be rough with you too. Ask for what you want when you want it. Allow me to ask for what I want. Don't clam up and play it safe! Let us be lovers, but know this: lovers are on the same page." I want to let him know that I want to give and take, I want to teach and be taught. I want words in bed to tell me what he's desiring.
There is silence while he looks down at me, his hands on my sides and his body hot with sweat. I cannot feel him, though he is massive. I moan to cover the silence, but I am numb. Dumbfounded by how badly I am letting this opportunity slip away. I want to grab him by the arms or the throat and have my way with him, but the alcohol, Damn this numbness, I cannot get my body to respond. Tears start streaming down my face. Feeling so little, not being able to move, it is agony and it is Hell. I contort my face to seem as though he has painfully hit rock bottom. Turning my face into the pillow I scream a silent scream of agonizing pleasure. Glancing out the side of my eyes, I want to see his reaction... Does he believe this lie of mine? Or does he know I'm numb and lying?
His reaction is one of slightly less than smug satisfaction. Politeness. Damn It All To Hell! We are sharing a most intimate of moment and neither of us can open up to each other and tell the truth!!!

Perhaps we love each other too much to risk rejection. I know that's my story.
He must have read my mind, It ends without either of us cumming.
He asks if I did. "No." I've never lied about it with him.
"No." He repeats after me in dissatisfied surprise.
He is surprised? I think: maybe I can corner him and show him how to make me come sometime. I can't tonight, too think to drunk straight, too many thoughts, too many fears.
I want to go smoke a cigarette and run screaming down the road. I want to scream vain words in his face, I want to punch him for being so cold with me. I want to force him to open up and talk to me. Like a person can be forced to do just that... ha! It is as futile a thing as getting two warring cultures to agree with each other.
Goddammit! We've been together how long now and he still won't open up to me!!! Does Our sacred Bond... Does being Family... mean nothing to him!??!?
We hold each other and my heart, for love of him, of being near him, of touching him, will not let me move a muscle.
"Dammit!" I whisper, "Why do I love you so damn much?"
I sigh, and within twenty minutes he falls asleep.

Counting heartbeats again... 76, 79 , 82, 85, skipped beat and a 1, 3, 6... We both still have arrhythmia and slow heartbeats... this time I fall asleep. Perhaps this is a sign of progress.

The next morning I leave him before he wakes up. My hangover pounding, I kiss his forehead and slip out the door singing to myself that I love him, loathsome as he may be. I Love him, and I fear he calls me his as I sometimes call him my own. This is our love? Our version of Happiness? It's not perfect; it's not even honest! So Why... Why is it I feel this way?

Monday, January 08, 2007

In the hedges

I ran into him on the street, just past the coffee-shop corner he stopped me in my tracks and for a moment he looked up from beneath that wide brim hat and trench coat clad silhouette and we locked eyes. I was frozen with fear, he was supposed to be dead.

It was raining and dark that night and as I stared out my window into the thin light of this little suburbia hell street I live on I watched incessantly the break in the woods. The tree-line was solid and thick save for one spot, if anyone were to come through they would have to go through there. My gaze was trained, and my Airsoft gun with its silencer was tense in my hand, hanging like a dead weight at my side. Whenever he came I would be ready for him.
It was 2:37 am and the gun grew heavier with my eyelids. I wasn't used to them waiting so long. The neighbors cat strolled by, a random light went out two streets down, I heard a twig snap and I knew it had to be time. 3:43 time flies when you have nothing to gauge it by, the tick of the clock had long since dulled into submission to the low thud in my temples. I could hear him breathing.
Tick, tick, tock tocca tick. It was the sound of a wristwatch, unfamiliar, but how was he already in the house? I began to turn as the window shattered and the click of the trigger registered in my brain. The whiz of the bullet resounding in my ear as I reeled around to find him, aim and fire... but where was he. I scanned the darkness and felt the cool night air's breeze on my back. My hand felt light and numb. He must have seen my own gun and shot it from my hand the tricky snake, my gun was on the cold floor, broken and as I searched the darkness frantic and cold I began to hear the watch again. Turning I caught a glimpse of his figure passing through the break in the woods. I grabbed my ankle-arm and shot a single true shot, I heard him cry out in pain and in a moment he was gone. I assumed dead, I would check to see in the morning.
He had tried to kill me.
He'd succeeded in breaking my gun and my window, but I got a look at his face. Through the darkness his eyes were wild and unusually... scared.
Would the old bird try to kill me again? Would he realize I knew who he was?
I thought about his face all the next day while I patched the window. Would I see him again? The neighbors asked why my window had broken, I told them a bird in the night had broken into my house. It was true.
When I saw him on the street, he acted as if he didn’t know me. Frozen with fear I stared at him as he passed me and was suddenly gone again in the crowd. A figure floating in and out of my conciousness.
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